-LRB- CNN -RRB- -- Outside my window , the wind is starting to die down , although it still comes through in gusts , sending branches and debris tumbling down the deserted street outside . The power 's been out since 4 a.m. Life has skidded to a slow crawl , with no data available on my smartphone and no Internet to tell me when the storm might subside .

It 's just me inside my shelter , listening to the howl of the weather and racing to eat everything in the fridge before it spoils and has to be tossed into a garbage bag .

Some people in New Orleans party before a storm starts or even after it begins . Young voices hollered and whooped down the street last night , kids running through the rain with bottles in their hands . In the meantime , I stood on the porch as the wind started to pick up . Waiting .

Hurricane Isaac photos

Luckily , I made sure to charge up all my laptops before the power went out . In the dark , I sit in front of a rectangular glowing screen , a reminder that my separation from technology is only temporary until someone comes and repairs the lines . Soon , I 'll be connected to the world again . For now , I send texts from time to time , just to make sure others are OK , to let them know I am thinking of them as we sit in the darkness listening to the world outside .

Some might describe the feeling that comes with waiting for a hurricane to arrive as fear , anxiety or anger . To me , it 's not quite any of those things . It 's closer to surrender .

Growing up , my grandmother told me stories of Hurricane Betsy that engraved themselves on my memory . In their home on Desire Street in the Ninth Ward , they stayed put when they heard that weather was coming , with none of the advanced ways to communicate about the threat of a storm that we have now .

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When Betsy hit in 1965 , my grandmother watched as the floodwaters gushed from the floor furnace in the hallway of their home , spilling across the living room floor . I listened , frozen in awe , as she described to me those first moments of panic , how everyone stood there and watched it , the long seconds before my mother screamed with fear .

They made a mad scramble into the attic , listening to the wind batter the walls of the house as the water slowly rose up the stairs . When it drew too close , my uncle chopped a hole in the roof so they would n't drown . They used a bedsheet to tie themselves together so they would n't fall after they made their way out into the wind .

Luckily , right before they climbed out of the hole , the rain stopped .

I grew up not with a fear of hurricanes but rather a conviction that they had to be dealt with using a mix of careful planning and complete concession to the whims of nature . Those vivid images from my grandmother 's stories never left me . She was a figure of courage to me , a devoted survivor .

A love letter to Louisiana

When Hurricane Katrina destroyed the home where my mother and grandmother raised me , we were lucky enough not to be in it . They were evacuated to the Hotel Intercontinental in the French Quarter and were there for days without power . Later , my mother described to me how the entire building shook from side to side while the winds tore through the city . She smiles now when she tells the story , because she knows how close it was , how fortunate they were to be airlifted out in the end .

I moved to Los Angeles not long after the storm , leaving New Orleans and my own flooded apartment behind me . The majority of what I owned was destroyed . Since I did n't have the capability to deal with what had happened , I chose to run in the other direction . But now I 've returned .

My grandmother never sought help for her post-traumatic stress symptoms after Betsy . In a way , I could n't blame her . It was unspoken between us , but I knew there was something about that kind of grief that was both a secret and a treasure . Admitting it meant admitting how much life had hurt you . It was easier to carry it silently .

As I watched Isaac draw up the mouth of the Mississippi River on the same August day that Katrina did seven years ago , I felt a sense of calm . I 'm calm still as I sit in the dark , looking at the frayed electrical wires dangling from the poles outside the window . That 's how a hurricane feels to me . It 's coming face to face with something of great power , and knowing it 's OK to be small and vulnerable in the face of it . From my parents ' experiences , I know you can fight these things . I also know you can choose to accept them absolutely rather than struggle .

If Isaac had been a stronger storm , I would have left . After so many years of hurricanes , you start to develop the same feel for them that a farmer does when he licks a finger and sticks it in the air to find out which way the wind is blowing . Monday night , as I walked home , the breeze was gentle and lovely , like a missive sent in advance of Isaac 's arrival . I 'll be there soon , it said . But you 'll withstand me .

Have you been through a natural disaster ? Share what helped you weather the storm in the comments section below .

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Colette Bennett fled New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina destroyed her home

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Bennett returned and hunkered down as Hurricane Isaac passed through her hometown

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Her family has lived through several hurricanes and passed down the harrowing stories

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Surrender and preparation are the keys to weathering a hurricane , says Bennett